


Ransom and Holster Love Each Other Very Much

by omgericzimmermann (HMSLusitania)



Series: The Good Ship Holsom [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Featuring, M/M, Mild Angst, Single Dads AU, doctor!ransom, holster the non tragic firefighter, i thought i ought to collect them in one place, i wrote five holsom fics the past three dasy, injury fic holsom, klutzy holster, more doctor!ransom, naked ransom, next door neighbours holsom, ransom and holster as oblivious idiots, schooners!holster, semi-canon holsom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-07-26 20:45:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7589488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HMSLusitania/pseuds/omgericzimmermann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Holsom fics I wrote on Tumblr and wanted to cross post here</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Jealous Boyfriend and the Sassy Barista

Holster always knew it would happen like this: he would be having an otherwise normal conversation with someone and the opportunity to make a bad joke about how not straight he was would present itself, he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation, and then everyone would know.

Like on some level, he’s a-ok with this because it’s 2016 it shouldn’t be a big deal anymore, they’re at Samwell, he can just mention it causally like that’s always been the case and everyone’s always known it’s the case and that should be that.

He…he didn’t mean for it to be Ransom that he came out to. Not first.

“Because it’ll be fuckin’ sick,” Ransom insists, showing Holster the vacation rental he’s found. “Look how close it is to the beach! Because bro, you do understand that there _are not beaches_ in Seattle right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Holster says. He’s looking forward to their short vacation before they move west. They’re going together, because how could they not, because Holster’s going to the Schooners and Ransom’s going to UW Med and they’re going to be together. It’s the only part of his future Holster’s ever been sure of – Ransom will be there. “It’s fuckin’ sweet.”

“Right?” Ransom says, clicking the reservation forms for their beach stay. They’ll probably bring some of the team – Bitty, Jack, Shits, Lardo, maybe Dex and Nursey if they can promise not to shoot each other, Chowder if he wants to stay in a rental in Santa Cruz instead of his actual house – but for the majority of the vacation it’ll be him and Ransom.

“Bro, just _think_ of how many hot chicks we’ll get to see,” Rans says, his head falling back in delight.

“What? I’m only allowed to find half the population attractive now?” Holster asks.

The words are out of his mouth before he really registers what he’s just said, but Rans is staring at him, his eyes wide.

“Wait,” Rans says. “Wait, bro, are you gay?”

Holster thinks back to the brief moment of horror he’d experienced in the sixth grade during a wrestling match in gym class when he’d pinned Eliot Hendricks to the mat and suddenly wanted nothing more than to kiss him and promptly shoved the thought out of his mind because _he liked girls thank you very much_.

It took way too long to get to the point where he was comfortable admitting to himself that yeah, damn right he liked girls, but holy shit boys were pretty damn nice too.

“Nah, bro, bi,” Holster says with more confidence and casualness than he feels.

“Oh, chill,” Ransom says, nodding and looking back at his computer and Holster thinks that’s it.

It sort of is until they get to Santa Cruz and stretch out on the deck chairs of their beach house – rented with Holster’s signing bonus – and start people watching. At least, Holster means to people watch, but he keeps getting distracted by the absurd number of sea lions chilling by the beach and hanging out in flotillas in the shallows.

“So like, is that dude your type?” Ransom asks.

“Wait, who?” Holster asks, dragging his gaze away from the sea lions.

“The dude you’ve been ogling for the past twenty minutes?” Ransom says.

Suddenly, Holster realises there’s a blond surfer type lounging in the middle distance between them and the sea lions. And he’s pretty but he’s not Holster’s type.

“Bruh, I’ve been staring at the sea lions,” Holster says. “I didn’t even notice that dude until you pointed him out.”

“Oh,” Ransom says.

It happens again. Holster is just staring at the ocean, at the trees, at the fucking delicious donut thing the dude at the next table is eating when they go to the Creperie, at the espresso machine at the Buttery when the guy is making his mocha. Every single time, Ransom asks him about the dude in his line of sight as if he thinks Holster is checking them out. Holster starts to get annoyed about it because he hasn’t really even noticed any of the guys and none of them are his type _at all_.

“No, Rans,” he finally snaps when they’re at the Buttery. “The barista is very cute but he’s not my type because I don’t go for blonds.”

Actually, come to think of it, every single one of the guys Ransom has pointed out has been blond.

“Thanks pumpkin,” the barista says, giving him a dry smile along with his mocha.

“No offence,” Holster says, grimacing at him.

“And what’s your jealous boyfriend getting?” the barista asks, handing Holster his mocha.

“He’s not my–” Holster starts.

“Pumpkin spice latte if you’ve got it,” Ransom says, looking ashamed of himself.

“This is not Starbucks,” the barista says. “But I’ll see what I can do since clearly I’m _your_ type.”

He winks at Rans and goes back to the espresso machine while Holster stares Ransom down.

“Every guy you’ve asked me about has been blond,” Holster says, sipping his mocha. “And I never noticed them. But you did.”

“Uh,” Ransom says. He tries and fails to look dignified. “So…so how do _you_ tell if you’re bisexual?”

“I see a hot guy and think ‘gee I’d really love to suck his dick,’” Holster replies, frowning at Ransom. He thinks about it for a second. “You’ve always had a thing for blondes. Just like…blonde _chicks_.”

Ransom looks even more flustered and picks up his latte from the barista, who is now leaning on the counter with his chin on his fist, watching them.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” he says when Holster and Ransom give him a look. “This is better than the time the little old lady called me window dressing.”

Holster takes him at face value and turns back to Ransom.

“Well, maybe sometimes I like blond dudes too!” Ransom says, blushing furiously.

“I’m blond,” Holster says, probably superfluously.

“Yeah no shit,” Ransom says, sipping his latte. Then he really registers what he’s said and his eyes go wide.

“Rans,” Holster says, stepping into Ransom’s personal space. To his credit, Ransom doesn’t flinch. “Ransom. Justin. Do you like me?”

“Uh” in a panicked tone is the only response Ransom has before he surges up and kisses Holster. Holster tugs him closer with the hand not holding his coffee.

They break apart after a moment, both breathing kind of hard. The barista is still watching them with a desperately entertained expression.

“Please don’t have sex in the bathroom,” he requests. Holster grins at him and takes out most of the cash in his wallet to stuff into the tip jar before tugging Ransom out of the bakery.

“Where are we going?” Ransom asks as Holster pulls him down the street by a belt loop.

“Back to the rental,” Holster says, dragging him closer again and kissing him. “Because see I just saw this really hot guy.”

“Did you,” Rans says, and then his tongue is touching Holster’s and Holster feels it like a lightning strike to the groin.

“Mmhmm,” Holster says. “And now I really want to suck his dick.”

Ransom actually fucking _giggles_ and if that’s not Holster’s new favourite sound he doesn’t know what is. Yeah, he thinks as he and Ransom stumble into their rental house. This is gonna be fun.


	2. Like a Puck to the Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt was: "Come on, it's not even that much blood."

Ransom is a med student. He spends his time dissecting cadavers, for fuck’s sake. He’s not supposed to be worried about blood. He’s going to be dealing with blood for the rest of his damn life. He is, in fact, completely full of the stuff for that matter.

But watching Holster get taken off the ice after a puck to the face is not something Ransom can deal with very well. He fights his way out of the stands and down the tunnel to the trainers’ room which is not somewhere he’s supposed to be during game time, but he doesn’t care.

Holster is sitting up at least, wincing visibly while one of the medics touches his face. He’s the one to catch sight of Ransom first, shortly followed by one of the GMs.

“You can’t be back here!” the man insists.

“I’m a doctor,” Ransom snaps back, edging past the man to get a look at Holster’s face. It hit him in the cheek, with is bruised and bleeding. Holster’s face is already starting to swell up and Ransom feels nauseous. There’s not even that much blood, but he can’t help the swaying in his stomach. He grimaces and has to turn around until his stomach stops seizing.

“A doctor?” the GM says, looking unimpressed.

“He’s my boyfriend,” Holster says, and the medic stops patching his face, sharing a bewildered look with the GM. Because apparently Adam Birkholtz, 6’4”, 220 pounds of muscle, blond, from upstate New York, defence on a professional hockey team doesn’t scream “in possession of a boyfriend.”

“Wait what?” the GM says.

“Aren’t you glad I told you in person instead of accidentally outing myself on twitter?” Holster asks with an attempt at a grin that tugs on his fucked up cheek and makes all the people in the room wince.

“Yes, and we can talk about that later,” the GM says, eyeing Ransom suspiciously. “Are you really a doctor?”

“Med student,” Ransom says, not adding that he’s a first year med student at that.

The GM continues to look unimpressed and sends Holster home as soon as he’s done with his face. They’re back in their apartment as quickly as they can get away from 1st Avenue and Pioneer Square, and Ransom’s sort of managed to stop shaking by the time they’re safely shut up in their home.

“Come on babe,” Holster says. “It wasn’t even that much blood.”

“Sure, I know,” Ransom says. He’s not even sure what the problem is, because it’s not like he’s never seen Holster take a hit before. But…but every other time he’s seen Holster take a hit, he was on the ice with him and could check the person who hit him into the boards and make him rue the day he decided to cross Adam Birkholtz and Justin Oluransi. “It’s just…I couldn’t be there.”

“Barging into the trainers’ room ten seconds later wasn’t enough?” Holster asks, wrapping his arms around Ransom and leaning against their kitchen counter. With all the extra playing and pre-season training that Holster’s doing and Ransom really _isn’t_ doing, Holster is substantially larger than him now. He’s big enough that he can completely surround Ransom when he hugs him against his chest like he’s doing now.

“No,” Ransom says in a small voice.

“That’s something you’re gonna have to get used to,” Holster says, resting his non-injured cheek against the top of Ransom’s head. “Because I’m gonna be playing hockey for a while.”

“You’re just not allowed to get hit, okay,” Ransom says. “Ever.”

Holster laughs and kisses him softly on the top of the head. “I’ll see what I can do.”


	3. It Was in the Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was that the boys were being oblivious idiots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the title of this one.

They meet in the card aisle.

Justin is debating between two, and is fairly certain he’s found the right one. It’s brightly coloured, has one of the Disney princesses on it, and congratulates a beloved granddaughter on turning five. He’s getting ready to make his way to the checkout when the startlingly large blond man who’s been browsing cards next to him taps him on the shoulder.

“Hey, which of these is worse?” the man asks, holding up two love cards. One is a scrabble board with the tiles spelling out “love” and the inside has just the letter “u.” The other is a picture of two people on a bench, probably in Central Park or something, and says “The most beautiful place I’ve ever been…is in your arms.”

“Those are both nauseating as hell bro,” Justin says, hoping to god that the man isn’t actually planning to woo someone with them.

“Right?” the man says. “It’s an inside joke though.”

Justin nods. “The bench one is worse.”

“Thanks,” the man says, putting the other back and then glancing at the card Justin is holding. “I mean, forgive me if I’m wrong, but you don’t look old enough to have a five year old granddaughter.”

“Nah, it’s for my little sister,” Justin says.

“Oh, sure,” the man agrees, nodding. “Because then you’re calling her five, which is annoying, but you’re also calling yourself a grandpa so she can’t really get mad at you.”

“Exactly!” Justin says, lighting up. “Dude, my mom always gets so annoyed, but Aisha and I think it’s funny as hell.”

“Right though?” the man says. “My friend sends me sympathy cards on my birthday, and I send her romance cards. The rest of our crew just thinks we’re crazy.”

Justin laughs and so does the blond dude. “I’m Justin.”

“Adam,” he replies, shaking Justin’s hand.

They keep talking their whole way to the checkout, and both cave at the counter to buy a couple of the Seattle Chocolate bars propped enticingly next to the registers.

“We don’t have these back east,” Adam says, breaking off a piece of his birthday cake flavoured chocolate bar.

“Yeah but you don’t have Kinder Eggs here either,” Justin points out, breaking off a piece of his raspberry bar.

“Oh, you’re Canadian,” Adam says, giving Justin a dirty look. “Always coming down here and stealing our Costco.”

“Dude, I’m from Toronto, not BC,” Justin says. He realises that they’re wandering aimlessly in the same direction, but doesn’t say anything about it.

“No shit? I’m from Buffalo!” Adam says.

They enthuse together about Niagara Falls and before Justin really knows what’s happening, they’re in a pub, grabbing beers, and talking like they’ve been friends for years. It’s only when Adam insists on paying that he realises Adam’s surname is Birkholtz and Justin knows exactly who he is.

“So they don’t call you Adam on the Schooners,” Justin says, pointing an accusing curly fry at Adam. It’s Seattle, so the curly fry couldn’t just be a normal curly fry, it’s got like some weird garlic and avocado aioli to dip it in, and sriracha and is beer battered in local hand crafted microbrew made here in the pub, but Justin will be damned if it doesn’t taste awesome.

“Nah, they call me Holster,” Adam says. “Are you a hockey fan?”

“Boys called me Ransom back in college,” Justin says, and Adam grins.

* * *

“Well of course you can bring your…friend…for Thanksgiving,” Justin’s mom says when Justin calls her to discuss plans. “Why wouldn’t you be able to bring your…friend?”

Justin is a little confused about the emphasis she’s placing on “friend” but brushes it off.

“He’s never been to a Canadian Thanksgiving, which is stupid because he’s a hockey player,” Justin says. “Like you can’t play our sport and then not celebrate our holidays, Adam!”

He directs this last at Adam himself, who is sitting on Justin’s kitchen counter with most of a burrito hanging out of his mouth. He blinks wide blue eyes behind crooked glasses and pretends to be contrite.

“Sorry bro,” he says even though his mouth is full of food.

Justin rolls his eyes and goes back to making his own burrito.

When they arrive in Toronto for Thanksgiving, Justin’s sisters are on Adam like glue because, “How often do we get to meet an actual NHL player, Justin?” Aisha reminds him while giggling about Adam’s biceps. Justin frowns but doesn’t really know how to fight with her.

“I mean, what are you? Just some useless doctor?” Amanda says, raising her eyebrow at Justin in a challenge.

“Fuck you,” Justin replies, although he doesn’t know why he’s angry. It’s not like either of them are flirting with Adam, since they’ve both got boyfriends anyway. But Justin still doesn’t like it.

“Is your…friend…staying in your room, Justin?” his mom asks while the girls fawn over Adam and their boyfriends glare from a corner. Justin is oddly compelled to join them.

“Mama’s got the guest room, doesn’t she?” Justin points out, a little confused by the question. Of course Adam’s crashing in his room, it’s not like there’s anywhere else to sleep.

“Oh, right,” his mom says. “Of course.”

Justin frowns at her when he knows she can’t see him. He still doesn’t like the emphasis she’s putting on the word “friend.”

“Bro, thanks for inviting me,” Adam says that night when they’re stretched out on Justin’s childhood bed.

“Yeah of course,” Justin says. “Sorry about my sisters groping you though.”

“It’s all good,” Adam says. “Although I think their boyfriends were gonna try and murder me.”

“Nah, they’re pretty chill,” Justin says. “Just jealous because you’re like, an actual NHL player.”

Adam grins.

* * *

A month later, Justin finds himself at Adam’s parents’ house in Buffalo for American Thanksgiving. All three of Adam’s sisters want to know everything about him, since apparently being a doctor is cooler than being a hockey player.

“You guys are like the inverse of my sisters,” Justin informs them and they giggle.

“You three are so not subtle,” Adam groans, glaring at the three of them where they’re leaning against Justin on the couch.

“Why would we want to be subtle?” the oldest asks. She’s the same age as Justin and just as blonde as Adam. She winks at Adam while she says it and Justin suddenly feels like he’s stumbled into the middle of something he didn’t want to be involved in.

Adam glares at her and stalks off to the kitchen to help their mom with dinner.

* * *

Seattle in winter is a miserable time, and Justin has known that for as long as he’s lived there, but it never gets easier. At least in Toronto it snows. Here there’s just freezing rain and no one wants that. But on the bright side, there are hockey games, and Adam gets him tickets to all of the Schooners’ home games. Justin doesn’t come wearing his Maple Leafs jersey because he’s not suicidal, but instead wears a Birkholtz jersey because he knows it’s going to make Adam laugh later when he sees him in it.

The easiest seat that Adam could get him was with the WAGs, and Justin sits next to a woman he quickly identifies as the captain’s wife.

“You’re Adam’s right?” she asks, eyeing his jersey. The phrasing seems strange to Justin, but it’s accurate enough.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“That’s sweet. How long have you guys been together?” she asks.

Justin’s about to say – oh, you know, eight months – and then realises what she’s implying. The realisation sinks in and he spends the entire game gaping at the ice like he’s just been punched in the face.

They go back to Adam’s apartment after the game and if Adam is concerned by the expression on Justin’s face, he doesn’t say anything.

“Want a beer?” he asks, opening the fridge and holding out a ridiculous craft beer in Justin’s direction.

“Bro, I think we’re like hella dating,” Justin says. His world still feels slightly off kilter, but just off kilter from the norm, not like it’s something bad. More like…more like everything just clicked into place.

Adam straightens up and stares at Justin with a blank look. Then, slowly, realisation dawns on his face.

“Oh my god we totally are,” he says.

They stand in Adam’s kitchen, staring at each other, and sip their beers in unison.

“So we should, like, kiss or something, right?” Adam says finally.

“I mean, probably,” Justin agrees, setting his bottle on the counter and wiping the condensation off his hands onto his jersey. Adam mimics him.

For some reason, Justin expects it to be slow, tentative, and exploration of this new facet of their relationship. Except Adam’s mouth crashes into his, Justin grabs onto him desperately and with just as much enthusiasm, and he realises as they bang into the walls on their way to Adam’s bedroom exactly how much he’s been wanting this.

He calls his mom the next day, sprawled on his stomach on Adam’s bed, Adam draped across him and pressing small kisses to his back.

“So I’m kind of dating an NHL player,” Justin says.

His mom is silent for a moment. Then, slowly, “Were you…were you not already?”

“Uh, no?” Justin says. “Why?”

“Baby, I was preparing to have the whole conversation about how we’re fine with you being bisexual and you don’t have to pretend Adam’s just your friend the whole time you were here for Thanksgiving! I thought you were already dating, the way you were getting so jealous about Amanda and Aisha climbing all over that boy,” his mom says.

“Hi, Mrs Oluransi,” Adam says. “We’re both really stupid?”

“Mmhmm,” Justin’s mom says. “You’ve both got that right.”


	4. Remember Those Walls I Built?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We live in adjacent apartments and one day I accidentally knocked a hole in the wall and into your living room I’m really sorry oh my god you’re naked

The apartment building is really shitty. That’s going to be Adam’s excuse for the rest of his days. The building is shitty, and the construction is worse, and there are literally two layers of drywall between his apartment and his neighbour’s and there used to be a door in that particular spot so there aren’t even studs, and he’s a very large person, so when he trips and goes directly through the wall, he blames it on the building’s construction.

He certainly doesn’t mean to break through the wall into his neighbour’s apartment, especially since his neighbour shrieks and seems to have just come out of the shower and is wearing nothing but a towel that he promptly drops as all 220 pounds of Adam Birkholtz falls through the wall and lands on his floor.

“Holy shit what the fuck!” his neighbour shouts, picking up a nearby hockey stick like he can use that to beat the intruder.

“I’m sorry I tripped over my dog!” Adam shouts back, holding up his hands in surrender.

To corroborate his story, Scout comes trotting through the hole in the drywall, sniffs Adam with a disinterested expression on her doggy face and then circles the – the holy shit, really, really hot neighbour.

Adam doesn’t mean to stare at the man’s abs (chiselled) or his thighs (muscular) or his ass (phenomenal) and especially doesn’t mean to look more than once directly at the man’s junk, except that he does, and he’s a little overwhelmed by the sheer intensity with which he wants to have the neighbour’s cock in his mouth.

“Oh my god bro what the fuck!” the neighbour exclaims. “How do you trip _through_ a wall?”

“I’m so sorry,” Adam insists, pulling himself off the floor and standing up, brushing the plaster dust off himself to the best of his ability.

“Oh,” the neighbour says in a small voice, looking Adam over. He hasn’t lowered the hockey stick. “That’d do it.”

“What would?” Adam asks, staring directly into the neighbour’s deep brown eyes because it keeps him from staring at everything else the dude has going on.

“The whole…being a giant thing,” the neighbour says. Then his brow furrows. “Hang on. Aren’t you the fucker who sings Backstreet Boys in the shower?”

“Uh,” Adam says, because yes, yes he is, but he didn’t realise his neighbour could hear him. Belatedly, he realises that their bathrooms must share a wall. “Maybe.”

“And the entire _Pitch Perfect_ soundtrack by yourself?” the neighbour asks, slowly lowering the hockey stick.

“I – I did a cappella in college,” Adam explains.

Hot Neighbour looks entirely unimpressed and finally drops his hockey stick.

“Of course you did,” Hot Neighbour says, and then he squeaks in dismay and his hands cover his business in defence against Scout’s cold nose.

“Sorry! She’s friendly,” Adam says, lunging to grab his dog by the collar. She scampers away and he somehow ends up on his knees much closer to his naked neighbour than he had been only moments ago. Slowly, Adam looks up Hot Neighbour’s torso until finally meeting his eyes.

“This doesn’t have to be awkward,” Adam says.

“We passed awkward a really long time ago,” Hot Neighbour replies.

Adam grins (awkwardly) and shoves his glasses back up his nose. “Can I buy you dinner?”

“I’m sorry?” Hot Neighbour asks, clearly in complete disbelief.

“Dinner?” Adam repeats. “Like…at a restaurant? Like as a date?”

Hot Neighbour raises his eyebrows. “I’d say yes but it’ll be a little awkward to go home and try to jack off the sexual tension since we now share a bedroom.”

Adam twists around to look at the hole in the wall that now connects their apartment, and shrugs.

“What on earth makes you think you’ll be going home alone?”


	5. Non tragic firefighters are the best firefighters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charity auction AU! Also single dads AU. 
> 
> (Also Ransom's daughter's full name is Elizabeth Ngozi Oluransi)

Justin isn’t entirely sure how he got roped into this. It’s his _ex-_ wife’s benefit, so surely he got out of going to things like this when he, y’know, got divorced. But apparently, that isn’t the case, because March and April show up together at his apartment to drag him to the gala.

“Come on, Justin!” they said. “It’ll be fun!”

Against his better judgement and apparently insubstantial arguments, he ends up at the gala anyway.

“All you have to do is bid on one of the items,” March assures him, straightening his bowtie. “And then you can go home and…do whatever it is you do on your nights off.”

Justin frowns at her. “I thought I got out of this when we stopped being married.”

“Oh, honey,” March says, patting him on the cheek. “We have a five year old. We are never not going to be connected like this.”

Justin heaves a sigh and is very glad that Ellie is staying with her grandparents in Toronto for the week.

“So what’s the auction,” Justin says, too exasperated to make it into a question.

“You’ll see,” April says with a sly grin.

Justin sighs again. “I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?” April asks, continuing with the sly grin.

“Smile like that,” Justin replies.

“Why?” March asks. “It’s her sexiest smile.”

“Yeah, I know, it reminds me of the fact we invited her to bed with us and then she stole my wife,” Justin points out.

March rolls her eyes, because it’s been long enough by now that there’s no room for actual bad feelings. April pats him on the arm consolingly, and they go to take their seats.

“Alright folks welcome to the St Joseph’s Hospital Charity Fundraiser!” the emcee says, hopping onto the stage. “Thank you all for coming and I hope you brought your check-books and your appetites because we have some _delicious_ items for you to bid on tonight!”

The man drags “delicious” out into a four syllable word and Justin wants to slap him.

“Alright, I’m gonna run you through our options and then we’ll start the bidding! First up! The most junior member of Station 63 is Tony Gonzales! When he’s not fighting fires, Tony enjoys stargazing and catching up on classic sci-fi television! Big round of applause for Tony!”

The attendees of the auction clap wildly, except for Justin, who is now glaring at March and April.

“The auction is for men,” he says.

“Oh, did we not mention that?” March asks, her eyes lighting with mischief.

“Come on Justin, when’s the last time you went on a date? This is the legal way to buy one,” April says.

“I hate both of you,” Justin groans.

“Next up, the cool, calm, mysterious            Rafael Weiss!” the emcee says, ushering another young man onto the stage. He stands next to Tony Gonzales looking indeed cool, calm, and collected. “Rafael enjoys…well, you’ll just have to find out!”

Justin keeps glaring at March and April while they wolf-whistle.

“Our third delectable choice is a Santa Cruz native, happy to join us over here on the east coast! Chris Chow is a major hockey fan, and would love to go to the aquarium with you!”

Justin tunes the emcee out during his introductions of the poetic Derek Nurse and handy-man Will Poindexter.

“Our penultimate delight hails from Buffalo, is a big fan of Niagara Falls, the Boston Bruins, and _30 Rock_ ,” the emcee says. “The lieutenant at Station 63, Adam has been a fan favourite for the last three charity events! Let’s give a big round of applause for Adam Birkholtz everyone!”

Justin claps distractedly, sipping on his wine instead of paying attention.

“Holy shit,” April says, kicking Justin under the table.

“What?” he asks.

“That’s the one you’ve got to bid on,” she says.

“Who?” Justin asks.

“Adam Birkholtz,” March says, nodding at the stage.

Justin turns and looks. Adam Birkholtz is ridiculously large, and blond, and is smiling at the crowd from behind glasses and Justin finds himself wondering if Adam Birkholtz would be capable of picking him up and maybe banging him against a wall.

The last option is the station’s captain, a tall, dark haired Canadian named Jack Zimmermann, and then the bidding starts. They go in reverse order, Jack disappearing quickly to a tiny blond man with a Georgian accent.

Justin is the first to hold up his paddle for Adam Birkholtz. Almost instantly, a little old lady with thick glasses glares at Justin and holds up her own. Justin raises his right back, not paying attention to the numbers the emcee is calling until the little old lady looks over at the caller, startled, and lowers her paddle.

“And sold for 5k to the dapper gentleman in the blue bowtie!” the emcee says.

March and April are cackling at Justin’s expense, but he can do nothing aside from look embarrassed. He can see Adam Birkholtz searching the crowd with a bewildered expression, like he’s concerned about someone spending five thousand dollars for a date with him.

Justin is pretty sure he’s as close to flame red as he can get after the bidding is all over and Adam Birkholtz comes to find him. He pauses on his way to their table to talk to the little old woman, kisses her on the cheek (Justin feels a stab of remorse) and then sits down at the empty chair at their table.

“So,” he says. “You outbid my Baba to spend time with me.”

“Sorry,” Justin says, wishing the floor would open and swallow him whole because that would be easier than the bright blue stare Adam Birkholtz is turning on him.

“Eh, you’re hot enough I’m willing to overlook that,” Adam says. “So where are we going on our date?”

They end up at the skating rink in Central Park. Adam is at home on his skates the same way Justin is, and as they get to talking, they discover they both played defence in college.

“Yeah, I was gonna go pro, but then my girlfriend split and I couldn’t afford to be on roadies all the time because of Sam, you know?” Adam says.

“Who’s Sam?” Justin asks.

“Oh!” Adam exclaims, pulling his phone out of his pocket and flipping to his photos. He shows Justin a series of pictures of a smiling blonde girl who looks like she’s about ten. In one of them, she’s sitting on Adam’s shoulders in front of Niagara Falls, grinning for the camera. Justin looks at the picture closely for a moment and then freezes. In the background of Adam’s picture, Justin himself is standing at one of the railings giving Ellie a piggyback ride.

“Uh, so this is gonna sound weird, but that’s me,” Justin says, pointing at the figures in the picture.

“Holy shit,” Adam says, gaping at it. “Bro. It’s like fate or some shit. How old’s your kid?”

“She’s gonna be six,” Justin says, which scares him to think about, but he doesn’t have to dwell.

“And the blonde woman you were with at the auction is her mom?” Adam asks.

“How’d you guess?” Justin replies, skating over to the pretzel stand and buying a couple.

“Obviously you’ve got a thing for blonds,” Adam says, grinning at him. He’s got a nice smile, one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes him seem luminous. And Justin’s back to wanting to test whether or not Adam can pick him up.

“Hah, yeah,” Justin agrees, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess I kind of do.”

“So, uh, where’s…”

“Ellie?” Justin offers. “My daughter, right, not my ex-wife?”

“Yeah,” Adam agrees.

“In Toronto visiting my parents,” Justin says. “Where’s Sam?”

“My sister comes and watches her if I’m going to be out,” Adam says. “It’s why we moved to the city.”

“Oh,” Justin says, nodding and attempting to be casual.

It clearly doesn’t work because before he can really process what’s happening, they’re back in Justin’s apartment, bouncing off the walls while they kiss. Sometime soon, they’ll talk about it, talk about the fact they’re both busy professionals, both dads. They’ll talk about introducing their girls, about how much Justin worries about Ellie since she’s already got signs of having inherited his anxiety issues, about how Adam’s already a little concerned for Sam’s bat mitzvah since he’s been the worst about going to temple since pretty much his own bar mitzvah, but in the end, Justin thinks, they’ll talk it over and realise that parenting is going to be so much easier for him if there’s someone else in his house for the opposite weeks he’s got Ellie, and it’s going to be so much better for Adam, since he’ll actually have someone besides himself and the occasional good graces of his sister. They’ll talk it over, talk the girls out of sharing a room, talk about taking Ellie full time so that March and April can do Doctors Without Borders, and all their talking will somehow add up to the best relationship Justin is ever going to have.


	6. Fake Vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holster and Ransom won a vacation by proving they were The Most in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a tumblr prompt.

“It’s three weeks, it’s fully paid, all inclusive, in the Caribbean. There are scuba lessons, there is horseback riding on the beach, there is an open bar,” Ransom lists. “Bro. This is like the perfect, perfect, _most_ perfect ‘you just graduated what are you doing with your summer before starting real life’ vacay ever.”

“Seriously though,” Holster agrees.

“Literally all we have to do is prove we love each other more than other married couples,” Ransom says.

Holster blinks. “Uh, bro? We’re not married.”

“Nah, but like it’s a contest for newlyweds,” Ransom says. “And to be honest, we’re a little married.”

“I know, I love it,” Holster says. “Okay, so what do we have to do?”

The first part is that they have to send a video to the producers of the show describing why they are the most qualified to receive this gift. That part’s easy. They borrow (a very concerned) Bitty’s video editing skills and have the video off well before the deadline.

“Hi, we’re Adam and Justin!” they say, grinning at the camera. “We got married earlier this spring at Niagara Falls, but because we just finished college, we didn’t have time to go on our honeymoon!”

Part one, done.

The next thing they have to do – once they pass the first part, which they do – is play the Newlywed Game with the other contestants.

And they fucking _own_.

Because Brad and Jenny don’t know each other’s favourite dish soap smells (Ransom prefers lemongrass, Holster likes a nice apple); Tina and Sharon have conflicting answers about which boy band is the best (Backstreet Boys, hands down, both answers); and Mack and Jackie totally blow it when it comes to fictional characters (Holster completely prefers Liz Lemon, Ransom knows this better than he knows his own birthmarks).

“Alright boys, but before we send you off on your vacation, at least give us a kiss for the camera,” the producer says.

And sure, it’s not a biggie, it’s not like they’ve never made out at a party before or had a threesome, like that’s just part of what makes them Ransom and Holster. So Holster doesn’t think much of it when he leans over and cups Ransom’s face in his hands and kisses him. But for some reason this time it feels different. This time there’s a studio audience for one thing, and they’re making agreeable noises, and then there’s the way Holster’s heart rate kicks up a notch when Ransom’s tongue touches the edge of his lip.

They get to the island and check into their hotel, completely thrilled to be there. It’s a nice resort, and there are crystalline blue waters out their suite’s window. But then again, there’s only one king sized bed in their suite, so that’s a thing.

“Bro, it’s not like we’ve never shared a bed before,” Ransom points out. “I used to snuggle up to you all the time back at the Haus to keep the--”

“To keep the what, Rans?” Holster asks, smirking at him and dropping his bag on the couch. “Because you just almost admitted that there were ghosts.”

“I did not,” Ransom replies, dropping his own bag as well. They both flew in their swim trunks, so Holster’s not entirely _surprised_ when Ransom shucks off his shirt and grabs his sunglasses, but he’s – he’s not prepared.

“Bro, have you been toning?” Holster asks. “Your abs are looking killer.”

“Nah, brah, it was the puking after the graduation kegster,” Ransom replies. “Last one to the beach has to carry the other one’s sorry drunk ass back to the room later.”

Holster’s out of his shirt and out the door before Ransom can finish his sentence.

The first week goes great. They do a lot of swimming, a lot of scuba diving – because, you know, turns out the scuba instructor is fucking hot and they can both appreciate an ass like that dude’s even if they are supposed to be on their belated honeymoon – and drink a lot of mai tais.

The second week is when it gets weird.

Holster’s not sure if he’s the one who forgets first, or if it’s Ransom. Because they’re talking to another couple at the bar – not that they’re a couple, Holster reminds himself later after he resists the urge to kick himself in the head – and Steve and James want to know how long they’ve been together.

“Shit, it’ll be four years?” Ransom says.

“Yeah,” Holster agrees, because they’ve known each other for four years.

“Was it love at first sight?” Steve asks, his smile soft. They’re super nice, Holster realises, old army buddies who got out and realised they were super in love.

“Yeah,” Holster says without thinking about it. “We got to chatting our first day of practice and it was like a light went off.”

“Was it love at first sight for you too, Justin, or did he have to convince you?” James asks.

“Nah, first time he talked me out of a panic attack,” Ransom says. “No one else had ever done that for me besides my mom, you know?”

James and Steve smile at them and it’s not until they’re back in their suite that Holster really registers what they’ve both said. Because those aren’t relationship answers they’ve crafted for the contest, those aren’t – they aren’t even supposed to be pretending to be married to random strangers they befriend.

“Bro, we did killer on the coordinating answers thing,” Holster says to try and stop his own internal panic. Because yeah, now that he thinks about it, he _did_ fall in love with Ransom the first time he saw him. It’s why he skated up to talk to him in the first place, why he started telling him about Juniors, why he was so enthused about it when Shitty christened them Ransom and Holster. _Because Holster is totally in love with Ransom._

“You know what’s super fucked up?” Ransom asks. He’s scratching the back of his head and looking confused. “Bro, I think I was telling the truth? Like I think I might actually be in love with you?”

“Hah, bro, same,” Holster says.

They let these statements sit for a moment in the quiet air of their suite, the sounds of waves and something resembling a party going on outside.

“I mean,” Ransom says. He says it slowly, advancing on Holster while he does. In the best way, Holster feels like a bewitched rabbit, and Ransom is the stoat. “We are in the honeymoon suite.”

“Yeah,” Holster agrees while Ransom winds his fingers through the knot on Holster’s trunks. His voice comes out a little huskier when he says, “Yeah, it would be a shame to let that go to waste.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (is there a Stucky cameo? yes, because I am useless)


	7. Don't Sext and Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holster accidentally sends a suggestive text to the group rather than just Ransom. Shitty must play investigator.

It’s one thing to be having totally platonic sex with your best friend, and that is a thing Ransom is A-OK with. He’s got a lot of stress to deal with, and sex is a great way to relieve that, and besides, Holster gives head like he’s magical, so Ransom is really fine with it.

He’s normally even fine with the whole sexting thing they’ve got running, since it helps keep him sane (or at least entertained) during his English requirement class. So he doesn’t think anything abnormal of it when he gets a sext from Holster. He only has a second to glance at it – something about suggesting an hour long BJ when Ransom gets out of class – before his phone blows up.

He can’t keep track of all the messages streaming across his screen they’re coming so fast. Shitty, Jack, Bits, Lardo, the Frogs (fucking Johnson, somehow?), all blowing up the group chat.

Now incredibly nervous, Ransom unlocks his phone and looks at the message stream. Obviously something terrible has happened and Ransom doesn’t know what.

The cause is immediately apparent: Rather than texting _him_ the offer for sex, Holster had sent it to the group chat.

“Oh fuck,” Ransom whispers under his breath.

“Yeah, it’s very profound, isn’t it?” the girl sitting next to him says. Unlike Ransom, she’s actually paying attention to the lecture.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Ransom agrees. He has to get out of there. He has to get back to the Haus and do some serious damage control ASAP.

Instead, he texts Holster. He triple checks that he’s sending it to just Holster before he presses send.

==Holtzy <3<3==

**Me:** UH BRO

**Holtzy <3<3:** I KNOW I KNOW I FUCKED UP I’M SO SORRY

**Me:** Yeah, but it’s not like you used names. We can totally play this off as you accidentally sending it to whoever it is you’re hooking up with and you accidentally clicked the wrong chat

**Holtzy <3<3:** But that’s actually what happened!

**Me:** yeah?

**Holtzy <3<3:** THEY’RE GONNA WANNA KNOW WHO I’M BANGING

**Holtzy <3<3: **BECAUSE BRO I SAID BJ

**Holtzy <3<3: **I CAN’T PLAY THAT OFF AS IT BEING A CHICK

**Me:** I’ll be home soon and we’ll figure it out. I promise bro. It’s gonna be fine.

==

Ransom does not feel fine when he walks to the Haus. Especially because he steps in the front door and is forced into a chair. They’re assembled in the living room, everyone from the group chat save Johnson, and Ransom is nervous. Holster, to his obvious dismay, is in the only armchair, facing the rest of them. Ransom can’t actually see if he’s been handcuffed there or if he’s just been forced there by Shitty’s willpower. Because Shitty is prowling the centre of the room wearing naught but a deerstalker and a pair of red briefs with a pipe protruding from under his moustache. Ransom doesn’t know if he’s going for Holmes or Poirot but either way, he knows he’s fucked.

“Gentlepeople, we have a conundrum,” Shitty says, puffing on his pipe like there’s actually something to smoke in it. There is not. “Our dearest Adam Birkholtz made a grave faux pas earlier this afternoon and has admitted he’s currently sleeping with someone when we all knew him to be single.”

Shitty examines the people sitting in the living room with narrowed eyes. Jack looks bored, Bitty way too curious, Lardo and Nursey are carefully disaffected, Chowder is rapt like he’s watching a murder mystery, and Dex looks like he just wants to go home. Ransom can’t fathom what he looks like.

“Or did we?” Shitty exclaims, pointing the bit of his pipe at Lardo in a sudden movement that would’ve flustered a lesser soul – like Ransom, for example.

“Because based on the knowledge that our dear Mr Birkholtz goes nowhere without the escort of at least one of the people in this room, it must be one of the people in this room with whom he’s doing the horizontal mambo,” Shitty says.

“For fuck’s sake, Shits,” Lardo says, clearly unimpressed.

“And we’re going to sit here until one of you confesses or until I deduce who it is!” Shitty announces.

Everyone groans, and Ransom hopes his doesn’t sound nervous.

But of course, no one confesses.

“Alright,” Shitty says. “Our first suspect. Jack Laurent Zimmermann. Possible reasons why? Jack likes blonds, Holster likes brunets, and who doesn’t appreciate a nice hockey butt? But on the other hand, Holster’s text made it clear this is a casual arrangement and Jack doesn’t do casual or people bigger than he is. Holster couldn’t ever sleep with someone without them having an expansive knowledge of pop culture, and as we all know, Jack is lacking in that and only that department. Jack, you’re off the hook.”

“Oh thank god,” Jack says in a total deadpan.

“Our next suspect!” Shitty says, turning to the other end of the room. “Christopher Chowder Chow! Possible reasons why? Chowder’s fucking adorbs man. Possible reasons why not? C’s got a super cute girlfriend and you guys are gonna get hella married and have hella babies. Chowder, you’re off the hook too.”

“Oh,” Chowder says. He sounds almost disappointed. “Okay.”

“Okay!” Shitty says. “William J Poindexter.”

Here Shitty falters, and then turns to Nursey instead.

“Derek Malik Nurse, possible reasons why…”

He trails off and sighs tiredly. Nursey and Dex stare at him reproachfully. And oddly in sync.

“You know, to be honest, I’m like 90% sure you two are fucking each other, not Holster, so like, you’re off the hook,” Shitty says.

“We are n--” Dex starts, but Nursey puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Just let it go babe,” he says.

Dex grumbles and Ransom’s very nervous now, because it’s down to him, Bitty, and Lardo.

“Larissa Duan!” Shitty says, pointing at her. “Nah, fuck it,  I know who you’re sleeping with. We are down to Bitty and Ransom.”

“Oh Lord,” Bitty mutters, covering his eyes with his hand. It’s all Ransom can do not to dig his fingernails into his thighs. He catches sight of Holster over Shitty’s shoulder and he’s gone from petrified to desperately annoyed. Which is good, Ransom thinks. He’d rather have an annoyed Holster than one who’s falling apart.

But to be honest, he’d probably take Holster any way he could get him.

“Eric Richard Bittle,” Shitty says. “Possible reasons? Well, you’ve got the same taste in music, you both enjoy watching reality TV and sitcoms together, Bits, you’re clearly seeing someone on the DL too, there was that time last week where Holster gave you a piggyback ride and holy shit! Bits! You’re dating Holster?”

“No!” Bitty and Holster shout in unison. It doesn’t help their case, but Ransom’s had it.

“It’s me, okay? He meant to text me,” Ransom says. He stands up and glares Shitty down. “And if you’re finished, I am going to drag my boyfriend back to the attic and try to repair some of the emotional damage you just inflicted.”

Shitty recoils like he’s just remembered both Ransom and Holster are substantially larger than he is. Ransom glowers at him, grabs Holster by the wrist, and tugs him up the two floors to the attic.

“So, uh,” Holster says as soon as the attic door is closed. “You called me your boyfriend.”

Ransom freezes. “I did?”

“Yeah,” Holster says. He puts his hands on Ransom’s waist and kisses him. It’s tender, soft. It’s – it’s setting Ransom’s insides on fire. “I kinda liked it.”

“Yeah?” Ransom asks, kissing him again. “Good, because you promised me a blowjob.”

Holster burst out laughing, and keeps kissing him. And really, Ransom can’t complain.


	8. The Penis Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Penis game

Adam likes to think he’s a reasonable man. He’s never been taken to violence, just occasionally excessive drinking. Hell, the only times he’s ever hit anyone have been during hockey games, and even then it was always the necessary sort of hitting.

But goddamn if he doesn’t want to throw himself across the library and punch the goddamn LAX bros in their stupid, preppy faces.

“Holster,” Bitty whispers, smacking him in the hand with a notebook. Adam lets go of his own notebook and realises he’s been gripping it so tightly it’s starting to curl.

“Sorry,” Adam says, letting go of the pages.

Then it happens again.

“Penis!” one of the LAX bros says. Chad, or Brad, or Huffy or whateverthefuck his name is. Adam’s teeth clench.

“I’m going to hit them, Bits,” he says.

“No, don’t you dare,” Bitty scolds. “We’ll get kicked out of the library. Just let them have their fun.”

“They’re not even having fun!” Adam hisses. “They’re not even really shouting yet.”

Bitty shrugs and goes back to doing his homework. At least, he’s theoretically doing his homework, but then Adam catches sight of his notebook and understands that Bitty is more or less writing self-insert fanfic about him and the Providence Falconers’ centre forward Jack Zimmermann. Which, in absolutely no way does Holster blame him for that.

Adam clenches his jaw and goes back to his homework. He’s just got to make it through finals and then he can move to Seattle and everything will be fine. It’ll be just fine, and he’ll never have to deal with the fucking LAX bros ever aga—

“Penis!”

This time it’s louder, the one shouting has a bit more commitment to the cause.

“Dude, Justin, bro,” one of the other LAX bros giggles.

Adam grinds his teeth together. He’s not going to lunge across the table and fight the LAX bros. He’s not.

“Penis!” the same voice says, but louder.

Adam looks up. The LAX bro in question is – well, actually. Adam’s pretty sure they had a class together back in freshman year, but he’s tall – not like Adam, but still – and has phenomenal cheekbones, and – and he’s wearing honest to god salmon shorts. Adam grimaces, repulsed.

“Holster, don’t,” Bitty pleads.

“I’m not doing anything,” Adam replies, turning a page in his notebook. He’s an adult dammit. He’s twenty-four, he’s got a signed contract to the Seattle Schooners, he’s above shouting Penis in his college library.

“Penis!” the LAX bro Justin shouts again.

And that’s fucking _it_.

“Oh lord,” Bitty mumbles, covering his eyes in dismay.

Adam stands up, slamming his textbook shut. The LAX bros jump, because Adam is really a lot of person and he knows how to throw his weight around. He locks eyes with salmon-short wearing LAX bro Justin, doesn’t think about what a pretty shade of brown the LAX bro Justin’s eyes are (Adam’s always had a thing for brown eyes, he just tries not to think about it), and cups his hands around his mouth. Salmon-short wearing, brown eyed LAX bro Justin meets his eyes and Adam can’t tell if it’s fear or mischief.

“PENIS!” Adam bellows. Somewhere below him, Bitty falls forward and buries his face in his notebook, ashamed to be seen with him.

The LAX bros scatter, Bitty and Adam are thrown out of the library, and the Frogs are delighted by the story back at the Haus.

“Dude, that’s some Shitty level shenanigans right there,” Nursey compliments, clapping Adam on the shoulder.

“It was so embarrassing,” Bitty complains over his pie. “And to think, you’re our _Captain_. You’re our public face to the institution of Samwell!”

“And next year it’s gonna be you,” Adam points out, ruffling Bitty’s hair. Bitty glowers.

Adam is saved by a knock on the door, which is weird because no one ever knocks on the door of the Haus, they either come in or they don’t. The group of them exchange looks and then Adam volunteers himself to get it. Nursey and Dex are big, sure, but he’s bigger.

He opens the door to discover the salmon-short wearing, brown eyed LAX bro Justin staring at him. And not that far up. He’s actually not that much shorter than Adam.

“Whiskey’s already at your frat,” Adam says, going to close the door in his face.

“Yeah, I’m here to talk to you, bro,” salmon-short wearing, brown eyed LAX bro Justin says. “Your Penis Game game is sick bro.”

“Well he’s a large boy with a large amount of volume,” Bitty says from Holster’s elbow.

“You’re the one who signed with the Schooners, right?” salmon-short wearing, brown eyed LAX bro Justin asks. “Birkholtz?”

“Holster,” Adam corrects, because everything else is right. For whatever reason, salmon-short wearing, brown eyed LAX bro Justin doesn’t look intimidated by a house full of hockey players. Adam has to wonder what kind of trash Whiskey’s been peddling about them.

“Sick,” salmon-short wearing, brown eyed LAX bro Justin says. “I just got accepted to UW med.”

Adam blinks at him. There’s still not a trace of fear in his (very pretty) brown eyes, almost like salmon-short wearing, brown eyed LAX bro Justin has forgotten about the Jock Strap Incident of 2014.

“Who are you?” Adam asks finally, because there’s clearly something wrong with this particular LAX bro.

“Justin,” he says. “Oluransi.”

“Oluransi?” Nursey repeats.

“We should call you Ransom,” Dex says.

“Ransom?” salmon-short wearing, brown eyed LAX bro Justin asks. He looks confused.

“Well they sent you over here as the ransom paid so that they could keep Whiskey, right?” Dex asks, holding up his phone for some reason. Adam sees a text there that does say something to that effect.

“So,” salmon-short wearing, brown eyed LAX bro Justin – Ransom – says, settling himself on the gnarly sofa. “How much do you know about Seattle, Holster?”

And just like that salmon-short wearing, brown eyed LAX bro Justin becomes Ransom, the Ransom to his Holster. Only a month later he becomes his best friend. Six months later, his roommate because Holster’s got a lot of away games, and Ransom’s great at taking care of his apartment. It’s a month after that Holster drunkenly kisses him for the first time, and when they wake up in bed together, neither of them can see any reason to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this AU, Jack never went to Samwell, and Ransom, obviously, is a LAX bro. 
> 
> (also in this AU, Holster was the one to help Bitty get over his checking problems, and they may or may not have, erm, anyway)


	9. The Stabby Kind of Coral Reef

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a tumblr Anon - "would you not talk to him/her? I think they're trying to date you."

Ransom watches in disbelief while the girl presses her pen against her lip and stares at Holster with big eyes. She’s nodding earnestly at everything he says, which makes her pretty brown curls bounce and spill over the cleavage she’s revealed with the top two buttons of her pink flannel shirt undone.

And Holster’s just fucking oblivious, Ransom realises. Holster’s just babbling away about economics. He’s talking with his hands and has gone Full Nerd, and Ransom wants to be embarrassed for him but there’s a strange burning sensation in his stomach that he can’t quite account for.

She had waltzed over to their table in the library earlier, her absolutely tiny shorts just barely covering all of her ass, her shirt unbuttoned, and she’d stared at Holster with a pretty grin on her face.

“You’re Adam right? I’m Tina. I think you’re in my econ class,” she had said before inviting herself to the chair next to Holster. “I’m having trouble with the homework, do you think you could help?”

And then she’d batted her eyelashes, started sucking on her pen, and giving Holster bedroom eyes.

And there was Holster, oblivious.

Eventually, Ransom can’t take it anymore. He has to leave. He has to be _literally anywhere else._

He gets back to the attic, unsure if Holster even noticed him leave. He paces the room, he tries to do homework, he tries to watch something, but he can’t stop thinking about Tina’s boobs peering cheerfully out of her shirt in Holster’s direction. She’d had nice legs too, under her daisy dukes. Long, athletic. Holster likes brown hair too, and her name is Tina like Tina Fey, so what is Ransom supposed to do with that?

And why does he even care? Is he jealous that Tina’s obviously into Holster instead of him? No, that can’t be it. Tina’s not his type. He goes for blonds.

When Holster gets back to the attic, the first thing out of Ransom’s mouth is, “You can never talk to her again!”

Slowly, Holster lowers his bag to his desk, and raises his eyebrows at Ransom. “Uh, bro?”

“I think she wants to date you,” Ransom explains. Well, sort of explains. He still can’t figure out why it bothers him.

“Yeah, I kinda figured?” Holster says. “When she asked me out after you left?”

Ransom feels something short circuit in his brain. It’s not like Holster’s never dated before. It’s not like Ransom’s never dated before, even if his last relationship ended when March graduated and he was absolutely crap at keeping in touch.

“You can’t say yes!” Ransom hears himself say. “You can’t date anyone!”

_What. The. Fuck_ , he demands of his mouth.

“Uh, why the hell not?” Holster asks, still looking at Ransom like he’s gone crazy, which, yeah, fair. “It’s not like I won’t have time for you bro. I’m not that kind of asshole--”

“Because I’ve got dibs!” Ransom hears himself exclaim, before he recoils and smacks his hand over his mouth.

Holster’s face cycles through emotions like someone’s made a flipbook out of emojis.

“Come again?” he finally says. “You’ve got dibs on what? Tina? Because you did not say anything, bro and--”

“On you,” Ransom manages to squeak. The thing is, he knows Holster’s bi. They had that conversation after an awkward moment when Ransom walked in on him blowing a dude once. But Ransom, as far as he’s ever known, is not.

As soon as he says it, he can see it. He can see himself and Holster, see them living together, see them wandering aimlessly through the grocery store in Seattle, see them having lazy Sunday mornings while Ransom does Sudoku and Holster does the crossword. And he’s seen it all before, because it’s been the Plan since Holster signed with the Schooners and he got accepted to UW for his biology masters’, but now it’s different. On those Sunday mornings, they’re playing footsie under the table, giving each other saucy grins across their coffee cups, smiles that promise something a little extra in the shower. At the grocery store, they’re stocking up on food, but also more condoms because Holster’s season is over and so they get to spend a few months having a whole lot more sex than normal. The apartment where they live has two rooms, but one of them is a guest room fit for whichever one of their sisters happens to be visiting, and the closet in the master bedroom is neatly divided for Ransom’s tasteful wardrobe and Holster’s “I spent my teenage years in Iowa and now I play professional hockey” wardrobe.

“You have dibs on me?” Holster asks, snapping Ransom back to the present.

“Uh,” Ransom says. God, isn’t he eloquent today.

“You don’t get to call dibs on someone unless someone else hears you,” Holster says, giving him a look that Ransom can’t read.

“Yeah well I just figured out that I want them, okay?” Ransom says. If he’s a coral reef like Holster keeps saying, he’s just turned into the prickly kind that stab unwary passers-by.

“I didn’t think you liked dudes,” Holster says, stepping closer to Ransom. He’s definitely in his personal space now.

“I didn’t either,” Ransom snaps, crossing his arms and looking anywhere but Holster’s stupid face.

“I guess I’ll bottom then,” Holster says, putting his overlarge hands on Ransom’s hips and sliding them up his sides. Ransom’s heart quivers in his chest and his stomach starts doing backflips where it’s lodged in his throat.

“W-when?” he asks. His voice comes out dry and shaky.

“For the crazy ‘thank fuck my unrequited crush on my best friend is actually requited’ boning we’re about to do,” Holster says.

“Oh that,” Ransom says. He aims for casual and misses by several miles.

Holster snorts out a laugh and then they’re kissing. Ransom’s pretty sure it’s the best kiss of his life, and he knows it’s going to be the only one that matters, ever again.

 


	10. High School Sucks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a tumblr anon: "It's my high school reunion and I need a hot date to rub it in the faces of the people who hated me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the worst thing I've written. I'm sorry.

When Ransom gets home from his shift at the hospital, he finds Holster sitting at the kitchen counter with a beer, an envelope, and a worried expression.

“Hey bro, what’s up?” Ransom asks, dropping his bag in the entryway and hanging up his raincoat.

Holster wordlessly hands him the envelope.

_You’re Invited!_ it reads in large curly letters. Ransom catches the words “10 year reunion” and “Iowa” and hands the invitation back to him.

“It’s your ten year high school reunion?” Ransom asks, because he’s pretty sure Holster didn’t graduate high school when he was sixteen.

Then he remembers – Holster’s two years older than him. He always forgets that part.

“Yep,” Holster says.

“Are you gonna go?” Ransom asks.

Holster grimaces. “I don’t know,” he says. “I mean, high school sucked? And I wasn’t even there for most of it, since I spent the first two years back home in Buffalo, and then when I was there, I was playing hockey most of the time.”

“What, so you were the weird hockey kid?” Ransom asks. Holster nods. “Great, so you’ve got to go and show them how awesome you are now.”

“Literally none of them are going to care that I play for the NHL,” Holster replies. Ransom finds that hard to believe, but Holster seems convinced. “They’re gonna be disappointed in me because I’m still single and it’s been ten years.”

Ransom toys with ideas of how to combat this problem that range from borrowing one of Ransom’s classmates to wandering down to Century Link Field and asking one of the Seahawks' cheerleaders to do them a solid.

“Okay, so we’ve got to get you a pretend SO,” Ransom says. Holster nods. “How much of a scandal do you want to cause?”

“A lot,” Holster says.

“So bring a dude of colour,” Ransom suggests. Holster is one of the few openly queer members of the NHL, even though that number is growing all the time. There’s at least three Ransom knows of – namely Jack, and Kent Parson – but he’s pretty sure there’s more.

“Only if you’re volunteering,” Holster says.

Ransom’s chest contracts and he’s not sure why. “Yeah, bro, of course.”

This is how they end up in Waterloo, Iowa for Holster’s ten year reunion wearing fake rings. Holster remembers to introduce Ransom as Justin, his newlywed husband, rather than Ransom his best bro for life. It’s easier than Ransom expects it to be, since they’ve got a whole shared history. Questions like, “Oh so how did you guys meet?” and “Where are you living now?” are super easy to answer, even with the truth.

“How did you get together?” is a little harder, but Holster seems to have that one covered. Fortunately, Ransom is around when Holster answers, so he can have the same answer later.

“Oh, it wasn’t really planned or anything,” Holster says. “We kinda kept hooking up at parties back in college--” True, Ransom reflects, but always with girls involved “—and then one day we just sort of realised we should make it official. He made me breakfast in bed.”

Ransom has never once made Holster breakfast in bed, because he doesn’t trust Holster not to spill coffee on his sheets and he also can’t cook anything more complicated than scrambled eggs.

And then there’s the look of adoration Holster gives him as he says it that looks genuine enough it makes Ransom shift awkwardly. His skin feels like it’s on fire, and he doesn’t know why.

“Babe, you okay?” Holster asks, frowning at Ransom.

“Yeah, I just gotta get some air, sorry,” Ransom says, ducking out of the high school atrium and into the cool evening air. He’s been pretty good at avoiding panic attacks since he started his residency so he doesn’t understand why it feels like he’s having one now. Except that, well, he can see it. He can see himself bringing Holster breakfast in bed, curling up next to him, and pressing a kiss to his neck. And he surprises himself by wanting it.

Holster shows up outside with him moments later and puts a steadying hand on Ransom’s shoulder.

“Hey, what’s--” Holster starts. Ransom interrupts by grabbing Holster’s head, dragging him down to Ransom’s height, and kissing him. When he lets go, Holster looks like he’s just taken the biggest check of his life. “Uh – no one – no one was watching.”

“Yeah,” Ransom agrees. He tries not to let his heart beat out of his chest, but it’s not working so well. “I know.”

“You kissed me,” Holster says.

“Yeah,” Ransom agrees. “There’s – it’s seven pm, I can’t really bring you breakfast.”

Holster’s surprised expression softens into a smile. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Ransom says. Holster’s hand is big enough to cover most of Ransom’s face, but Ransom kind of likes it as Holster cups his face and kisses him again. “I think we’ve maybe technically been together for a really long time.”

“We should turn my bedroom into the guest room,” Holster suggests. Ransom’s pretty sure that’s skipping a couple steps, but he doesn’t care. “Yours has the bathroom in it.”

“Sounds good,” Ransom says. He entwines his fingers with Holster’s. “You know I love you right?”

“Bro, I’ve been just like, stupid in love with you for years,” Holster replies. He lifts their joined hands and kisses Ransom’s knuckles. And Ransom thinks that maybe this will be perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> Come cry with me on [tumblr](http://omgericzimmermann.tumblr.com)


End file.
